


Central City Blues

by nirejseki



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Noir, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:59:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: It's not every day a pair of legs as fine as Bartholemew "Barry" Allen's walks into the offices of private investigators Mick Rory and Leonard Snart - and he's bringing trouble with him.





	

"Got us a new job," Mick says.

"Mmmmrph," Len says, facedown on the coach.

"Yeah, I see you're real pleased."

Len flips Mick off.

"You go drinking with the doc again?" Mick says archly. "Thought you knew it was bad idea."

"You'll both learn one day," Sara, their resident doc, says peaceably. "But as it happens, no; Miz Saunders wanted to have a stitch and bitch about those two boys of hers, so I was out. He was like this when I got back."

Len moans pitifully. He's such a drama queen.

"So what's the job?" Sara asks, brightening at the prospect of work. She always did get keen when there was crime afoot; Len was keeping on her case about joining up with Len and Mick in their firm as a proper gumshoe, what with her tagging along on just about every case they took, but she maintained that her father would flip his lid if she took up snooping.

Mick personally didn't see how being an illegal back-room doc was noticeably better, but she did excellent morgue work for the cheap, cheap price of a chance to hunt criminals down. 

"You'll like it," he says, dropping the file on his incapacitated partner's back. "It got brought in by a pair of legs that went on for days."

Sara straightens with interest. "You don't say."

"Oh, yeah," Mick says with relish. "Trim little waist just begging to have a pair of hands wrapped around it, svelte as anything, nice long neck -" He watches Sara's eyes go dreamy, then moves in for the kill. "- great ass for such a slim fella."

Sara deflates. She'd rather sworn off men after the fiasco with Oliver Queen, the DA's boy, and an ill-considered near-fling with Len that had only been derailed by his sister Lisa rolling into town and sweeping Sara off her feet. Which was all for best, really, as Sara'd been rather displeased to learn from Lisa that Len was both common-law married and intent on seducing her into a different line of work rather than his bed. It's not that Mick minded the thought of splitting, really, but Sara wasn't the type. She sticks her tongue out at Mick. 

Len mutters something incoherent.

"What's that?" Mick says, smirking at Sara.

Len blearily lifts his head, revealing a hell of a shiner. "Barry Allen," he slurs.

"Yeah, that's the kid's name," Mick says, frowning. "How'd you know?"

"His dad's in lock-up," Len says. "Henry Allen. I tipped him off about our services last time I was on the inside visiting some old contacts; he said his kid was determined to prove him innocent, and that he was getting too close to something hot. Wanted him to have company."

"Looks like you got too close to something hot yourself," Mick says, reaching out and cupping Len's chin gently. "Lenny, what's you doing getting yourself clobbered without me? You know I'm the muscle around here."

"I didn't realize they'd come out swinging," Len says ruefully. "Went over to the speakeasy down Cedar Lane, had a couple, asked some questions and then got my ass handed to me by a very big, very loyal gorilla."

"Then we know whodunnit?" Sara asks, tapping her lips. 

"No," Len says. "But we know that not one, not two, but _four_ of Central City's biggest power players have got an interest in it. Before I took a face-first shortcut out the window, I saw reps from City Hall, the Families, the union boys and the local rep from the US Army base, all sitting in the back room around a set of papers."

Mick whistles. "That's hot as hell, no kidding. What's this kid getting himself into?"

"Well, Mick," Len says, pulling himself up with a grimace. "I suspect that's what we're being paid to find out." He grins up at Mick. "Luckily, hot's your specialty, ain't that right?"

"I can't wait to get started," Sara chirps.

"You don't even work here." Mick retorts. "Go away till we've got a dead body for you."

"Aww, but _Mick_..."

"Offer to join's still open," Len says. "But don't worry. I'm sure we'll have a dead body for you soon enough."

"As long as it isn't either of you," she sniffs.

"What body?" Mick asks, frowning. "I thought the kid said he was looking into a murder what that happened some thirteen years back." 

"Yeah," Len says. "And I got reason to think that the murder of Nora Allen was merely one very early, very messy incident in the very long and bloody career of one of Central City's professional assassins."

"Then why was she killed? Per the kid, she was a doctor's wife; no politicking or nothing."

"Better question," Len says. "Why's there suddenly the fuss about bulking up their cover-up - right before her boy comes of age."

"That's not right; he's twenty four," Sara says, paging through the file Mick had brought back - she must've grabbed it when he wasn't looking. Len's clearly been teaching her some lightfinger tricks. "He's been an adult for three years or six, either way you cut it."

"Not if you're talking about a trust," Mick says, getting it. "One of the old French-style ones. Those come due at age twenty five."

"Exactly," Len says with satisfaction, nodding. Then he winces. "Someone get me some ice for this eye, will ya?"

"Big baby," Sara says.

"Quack."

"I'll get it," Mick says, rolling his eyes. "You two figure out what lead we should run down first."

They both nod, absorbed in the files Mick had brought, which were fairly thorough if Mick could say so himself. He and Len had made themselves a nice nest egg before they'd swapped the crime business for the _solving_ crime business and gotten their PI licenses, so Mick had no problem spending a good amount of time up-front grilling their client even if it pissed them off enough to try to storm out. They usually came back anyhow - by the time you got desperate enough to need Mick and Len's specialty services, no one else could or would help. Mick wasn't about to let their outfit get caught up in some Big Sleep-like mess because they took the job without appropriate research.

It was particularly easy to spend the time obtaining that research when their client was as easy on the eyes as Mr. Bartholomew "Barry" Allen. 

Mick got Len the ice and made everyone sandwiches. By the time the sandwiches were gone, Len and Sara had finished up reviewing Mick's notes - with obligatory bitching about his handwriting and their need for a preferably-competent, preferably-sexy secretary (gender under debate) - and Len was grinning like it was his birthday, which meant that this job was definitely more trouble than it was worth. 

Their specialty.

"Well?" Mick asks.

"I've got some ideas," Len says, ignoring Sara's incredulous " _you've_ got?". "First things first, though, I want to meet our client in person. Especially if his legs are all that you say they are, but more importantly because I think his life is in immediate danger."

They might need to take Mr. Allen in for protective custody, Mick mused. Maybe he could engineer an accidental lack of beds and invite their pretty little client into his and Len's. 

"Not till after the job," Len says, reading Mick's expression perfectly. 

"We're going up against some big boys," Sara says thoughtfully. "I think -"

"You're still not actually in the business," Mick points out.

"Shhh! Anyway, I think I'll make my way down to city hall and check in with my sister, catch up on the gossip." Sara smirks. "Gotta make time for family, you know."

"You do that," Len says. "Mick and I will collect Allen and then go chat up some of our black market contacts." He smirks. "Let's go stir up some trouble."

**Author's Note:**

> Just a random idea I had; unlikely to be continued. If anyone wants to take the idea and run with it, I'd be happy to see it - just let me know!


End file.
